


Something Here That Wasn't There

by Extended_lope



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Aid, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 17:17:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8336083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Extended_lope/pseuds/Extended_lope
Summary: Alex had gotten pretty good at dealing with her nightmares, now she gets to put her experience to good use.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Story is unedited, all mistakes are my own. (And there's probably a lot of them).

He was exhausted. The flickering sound of the baseball card in the spokes of his bicycle wheel whirred rapidly as he pedaled as fast as his legs would allow.

He panted. Sweat dripped down the side of his face, and a chill ran down his spine. He could see them, the shadows, darting in and out of the trees on either side of the path.

The rushing sound of the river to his right was composed of pleading whispers, the wind that rattled through the bare winter trees was nothing more than icy fingers clawing desperately at his flesh; the shadows were hounds following their prey.

_Where are you going Richie? You can’t hide from what isn’t there._

The hauntingly unnatural laughter that echoed through his head caused him to shudder, the bike’s tires sliding on gravel in the dirt road. He was tossed over the handle bars, his body skidding to a halt on the side of the path, debris biting into his hands as he scrambled to right himself.

 He could still see the shadows flitting in between the trunks of the trees, ethereal faces with eyes that didn’t blink and fingers that were too long to be considered anything except claws. He backed away fearfully, swiping desperately at the dust that smudged across his glasses. His back connected with something solid and a strangled gasp erupted from him as he felt himself constricted, the bark of the tree tearing into his flesh through his shirt.

He struggled against bonds he couldn’t see, against a restraint that he didn’t understand. He looked down in horror as a smoky black entity entwined its way up his body.

“ _No, no no no”,_ he panicked as that shadow slowly engulfed him. He could feel it moving on the skin of his hands and arms, like a thousand spiders rushing across him, making him shudder and struggle.

_This is where you belong, Richie, you will be one of us._

Leaves rustling nearby caught his attention; his heart was gripped with terror as he glanced wildly at his surroundings.

There, on the other side of the path, advancing on him was Bobby Mames. Except that it wasn’t Bobby Mames. His skin was pale, his clothes and hair were soaked and dripping, and his head, _oh god his head_ was tilted in such an unnatural angle, his unseeing blank eyes staring ahead. Richard screwed his eyes shut, shaking his head violently.

When he opened them again Mames was gone, and standing there in his place was Coralee. Her shirt was soaked in a dark red stain, and her blonde hair hung in matted tendrils around her sunken face; she lifted an arm slowly, her gnarled hand reaching toward him. He cried out, turning his face away, no longer able to bear the sight.

He could feel the shadow creeping up the back of his neck, the entirety of him almost completely engulfed. His eyes popped open, a black, murky face, with its wide staring eyes and skull-like grin mere inches from away from him. He screamed, wrenching his arms up to claw at the black mass that slowly covered his mouth and face. The last thing he saw was the ghostly grin growing wider across the shadow’s face.

_Welcome home Richie._

*~*---*~*

It was one-thirty in the morning when the beeping of Alex’s digital watch pulled her attention away from the manuscript she was engrossed in. She was currently waist deep in piles of research papers, spread across the floor of Strand’s bunker-basement, looking for any thread of information that was relevant to their investigation.

 She hadn’t realized how late it had become, nor had it dawned on her that nearly 3 hours had passed since Dr. Strand had retired to the upper level of the house, complaining of a migraine. She had bid him a good night and promised to lock up on her way out after she had finished her current endeavor. But that was before she had fallen into the time vortex that was Black Tapes research.

Alex carefully untangled herself from amidst the papers, stretching and stifling a yawn as she went. She bent to retrieve her empty coffee mug before turning towards the stairs and ascending to the main floor of the house.

As she passed through the living room, making her way towards the kitchen to deposit her mug, she noticed a suspiciously Strand-shaped lump folded up on the overstuffed sofa. Alex rolled her eyes, silently making a note to tease him about not being capable of making it to his own bed. Creeping quietly by the sleeping Strand, she made her way into the kitchen.

She stood at the sink basin, waiting as the running water warmed to the appropriate temperature before soaping up the coffee mug. She had just settled the clean cup into the dish drain to dry when she heard a faint whisper float through the darkness of the kitchen.

The hair on her arms and neck stood up as she reached for the tap, cutting off the water. She waited for a few tense seconds, straining to hear the noise again. She mentally shook herself as the house remained dark and silent. As she turned to dry her hands on a nearby dishtowel, she heard it again, this time without the distortion of the running water.

 _“Noooo,”_ a voice groaned, just barely audible in the silence of the kitchen.

“Dr. Strand?” Alex tentatively called out. She turned to make her way back to the living room when the stillness of the house was shattered by a terrified cry. Without hesitation, Alex dashed the remaining distance to the living room.

She lurched to a horrified stop as Strand came into view on the couch. He was thrashing about, grappling with an invisible force, and his hands were clawing at his face is a frantic attempt to remove something that was not there.

It took her a minute to process the scene in front of her before Alex flew into action.

“Dr. Strand!” she shouted as she reached out to take his wrists, wrestling his hands away from the scratches that stood out on his colorless skin.  She stood over him as he struggled against her, Alex’s grip on his wrists tightening to keep him from further injuring himself. “Dr. Strand, wake up!” she pleaded urgently, but he remained engulfed in the clutches of the night terror.

“Richard!” she bellowed, pinning his wrists down to his chest as she pressed her weight into him. Piercingly blue eyes shot open in a panic, Strand’s breath coming in great panicked gulps.

The tense muscles beneath her hands went slack, and Alex sank down onto the edge of the couch at Strand’s waist, trying to regain her breath. She kept her hands on his wrists, still not trusting him enough to let go.

Stand panted, open-mouthed, as his eyes darted wildly around. His face was covered in a thin layer of perspiration, and one of the deeper scrapes on his face was starting to slowly ooze blood.

“Hey,” Alex half whispered, “you’re ok.” Strand’s frantic gaze met her own, before sliding shut. He turned his head away from her, trying valiantly to control his panting breath.

Alex released her grip on his wrists, opting instead to cover his quivering hands with one of her own. She reached forward with her other hand to gently touch his face. He flinched, and Alex’s heart constricted a little in her chest. She shushed him, carefully winding her fingers through the damp roots of his hair.

Strand whined at the touch. _He fucking whined_ and Alex couldn’t help herself. Using both of her hands she grabbed his arms and pulled him to her. His frame curled willingly into her embrace, pressing his face into the space where her neck met her shoulder, fingers clutching at her shirt, reveling in the solidness of her presence. Her arms cradled him; one stretched across his back, holding him to her, and the other threading through the hair on the back of his head.

“Ok,” she whispered into his hair, “it’s ok. Just a bad dream.” Her fingers continually soothed through his hair, doing whatever she could to chase away the darkness that had consumed him in his sleep.

“Alex,” he mumbled against her, his usual baritone sounding abnormally soft. If he tried to say more, the words were swallowed up by the cotton of her sweater as he turned his face into her.

“I’m here,” she squeezed him momentarily tighter.

She’s unsure of how long they sat there, Alex holding him and Strand allowing himself to be held. Eventually Strand’s trembling subsided, his breathing becoming steady and even.

He quietly cleared his throat as his untangled himself from her hold, strategically avoiding her gaze as he shuffled his legs from behind her and off the couch, touching his feet to the floor. His elbows rested on his knees and his hands hung loosely in the air between him. He hunched over, staring at the floor and Alex couldn’t help but notice how utterly exhausted he looked at that moment.

“… Thank you,” he said in barely more than a whisper. Alex just smiled and touched his shoulder, herself knowing all too well the overwhelming fear of waking from those horrible dreams. Strand sighed and went to scrub his hand over his face, but stopped with a hiss of pain at the raw scratches that decorated his cheek.  

“Here, let me see,” Alex said, frowning at his discomfort.  She reached for his chin to gently tip his face in her direction.

There were a few superficial scratches on both sides of this face, minor and annoying, but otherwise harmless. On the arch of his left check, there were four small, semi-circle shaped lacerations; clearly the mark of Strand’s fingernails, left in his distressed attempt at removing whatever he’d thought was attacking him. The two directly below his eye were red and angry welts, the two to the outside of his face were sluggishly bleeding.

“It’s not too bad,” Alex assessed as she looked him over. He fleetingly met her eyes. “I have a first aid kit in my car. We can get you cleaned up.” She stood from the couch before Strand could protest, her hand drifting once more through his hair as she walked away, towards the front door and out to her car.

*~*---*~*

When Alex returned to living room, Strand was gone, and the only sign of their earlier incidence were the disheveled pillows strewn across the sofa. Alex’s eyes were drawn to the light now filtering from the hallway. Her feet followed it, eventually coming to rest at the threshold of the open bathroom door.

Strand was there, his head bowed and his back hunched over the vanity with his hands gripping the edges on either side of the sink. His breathing was even, but still Alex knew he was struggling. She could sympathize; her own nightmares often haunted her long after sleep had faded away. She took one step into the bathroom and cleared her throat to signify her arrival. Strand startled at the sound and Alex touched his elbow in apology as she brushed passed him.

“Here, sit down,” Alex motioned to the edge of the bathtub opposite the vanity, so she could use the lighting to her advantage.

Strand complied without a word, sinking down to sit with his hands laced in his lap. Alex deposited her first aid kit on the counter and began digging through it. Strand watched as she rummaged through the bag. She finally settled a hand full of items onto the counter beside it; antiseptic wipes, liquid stitches and butterfly bandage.

“Wow,” Strand couldn’t help his surprise, “you certainly are… prepared.”

Alex just snorted as she began washing her hands in the sink. “Yeah, well, Nick always makes sure I’m well stocked.” She turned and dried her hands on the towel hanging from a ring near the vanity. “I’m _accident prone._ His words, not mine.” She gave Strand a wry smile, and he met it with a half-hearted one of his own.

“Anyway, I’ve gotten pretty good at patching myself up, and by extension, patching other people up,” Alex tittered on as she grabbed a pouch of antiseptic wipes and ripped it open. “Sorry, this part sucks.”

Stand sucked in a breath as Alex gently began wiping the drying blood from his cheek. Alex steadied him with a hand on the opposite side of his face, whispering an apology as she carefully cleaned each gash. Satisfied with her handwork, Alex dropped the wipe into the trash bin and turn to grab the bottle of liquid stitches and the butterfly bandage.

“Is all of this really necessary?” Strand asked, shifting uncomfortable on the edge of the tub. Alex has twisted the cap off the liquid stitches and was currently scraping the excess from the brush back into the bottle.

“Relax,” She said casually, setting the bottle next to him, “I’ll be done in five minutes. Then we’ll work on making up a good story to tell the interns on Monday.” She smiled at him, and he rolled his eyes, but Alex saw the hint of a smirk. “Ok, just hold still. Don’t want to go gluing your eyes shut.”

Strand huffed and closed his eyes. Alex gently pinched together the skin around one of the smaller gashes below his left eye and began softly brushing the liquid over it.

Stand flinched, and again Alex apologized. She quickly finished and moved on to the next wound, applying the liquid bandage across each of them. After allowing the adhesive to dry, she peeled the backing off the butterfly bandage and expertly applied it across the biggest of the cuts, just to the outside of Strand’s eye. She cupped his face and smoothed across the bandage with her thumb. Strand slowly opened his eyes to meet hers.

“Better?” she inquired, still lightly stroking his cheek. He nodded dumbly, and then suddenly self-conscious under her gaze he cleared his throat and looked away. Alex’s hand dropped back to her side. “Good. But you still look like hell,” she teased. He huffed a laugh.    

Alex gathered her supplies and began repacking her first aid bag. Strand watched her, still uncertain of himself in her confident presence, and brought a hand up to nervously scrub across the back of his neck.

“Thank you…” he said, “for… uh, taking care of this. Of me.” He stuttered through his gratitude with the grace of a newborn giraffe. Alex, after zipping up her first aid kit, turned towards him and leaned back against the vanity.

“Well, one of us has too,” she chided. He sheepishly considered the floor at her words.

“Yes. Well. In any case, I appreciate it.”  

“Don’t mention it.”

Alex picked up her first aid kit from the counter and turned to exit the bathroom. Strand stood and followed her down the hallway. He stopped in the living room and watched as she collected her cell phone and purse. Once she had all of her things, she turned towards him and smiled.

“It’s getting late. I should be going.”

Strand nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets to hide their tremor.

 “Of course.” He swallowed against the sick feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

She smiled at him and turned towards the front door, “Goodnight Dr. Strand.” She said over her shoulder.

As she reached for the doorknob, Strand leapt forward a step, one hand suddenly stretched in her direction, “Wait!” he shouted, startling himself and Alex both. She turned to look at him, bewilderment on her face. He abruptly felt foolish, standing there like he was and a blush crept out from under his shirt collar and traveled across his face.

He cleared his throat and returned his hands to his pockets, averting his gaze from Alex’s expectant expression.

“Maybe… Maybe it would be better, if you stayed.” He said to the floor, “I mean. Since its so late. I don’t know if you should be driving.” It sounded lame even to his own ears and he cursed his inability to articulate anything better.

Alex studied him for a moment, her fingers still wrapped around the doorknob. “I’m not going far, I’ll be fine.” Strand didn’t say anything, just nodded and continued staring at the floorboards under his feet. A realization crept over Alex, and she dropped her hand from the door.

“Unless you want me to stay.”

Strand didn’t answer, but Alex knew instantly by the way his body sagged as he turned his face away from her that she had voiced what his pride had not permitted him to ask.

She set her bag and purse quietly on the floor and stepped away from the door. He looked up as she approached him. His normal mask of stoicism was gone, and in its place was an openness that Alex didn’t think she’d ever see.  

Alex reached out and took his hand, squeezing his fingers and was surprised when he reciprocated.

“I’ll stay. As long as you need me.”

**Author's Note:**

> My first TBTP fic and it's shameless fluff trash. I beg forgiveness...
> 
> BAD ABRUPT ENDINGS ARE BAD AND ABRUPT


End file.
